Please God, No Phone Call

The procedure on Tuesday went well. Thank you all for your prayers. We have gotten so much support throughout this whole ordeal that I doubt I'll ever be able to express the extent of my appreciation. I hear daily that we are part of prayer chains and people are lighting candles for us. I've received messages from people I've never even met. It's almost as if you all want this just as much as we do! Dankeschön!

It was my first time being put under anesthesia and I tried really hard to be a good patient. I swear. Before we went in, I told myself that I wouldn't talk a lot before they put me under or when I woke up. I said I would try not to tell them where to start my IV. I wouldn't mention anything about the sip of tea I had that morning, even though I was supposed to be NPO after midnight. Ooops! ;)

My mother-in-law ("Mama Frick," as I like to call her) accompanied me and we giggled a lot. She especially liked the fancy footwear she was required to wear.

As we arrived, the nurse asked me if I had my long T-Shirt/nightgown with me... 

"Umm...no? I didn't know I was supposed to bring anything with me...besides my ovaries."

"The doctors usually tell you to bring a long T-Shirt."

"Hm, no. I feel as though I've been poorly informed this whole procedure..."

...awkward silence...

"Ok, Mrs. Frick, I'll bring you something to wear."

And off she went to fetch me my makeshift nightgown.

I read on a little sign in the changing room that I'm allowed to keep on my underwe....no, sorry, "undertrousers" and jewelry. They didn't mention anything about a bra or socks but I made that decision myself. I didn't realize that morning that my socks would be visible to everyone. Hell would freeze over before I walk barefoot in any public place, plus my feet were cold, so I left them on. I was (am?) a bit behind on the laundry so it was slim-pickin's that morning. I came out of the changing room like this:

Tada! XL purple scrub top, no pants, complete with bright pink and purple leopard socks. I figured, what the hell, this isn't a fashion show...I'm just here trying to get pregnant, people.

They showed me to my bed, which had a little post-it note stuck to the foot - "Frau Frick." Eventually, the anesthesiologist came and talked to us. Random thought as she was jibber-jabbering:

"I wonder if she thinks Mama Frick is my lesbian lover..."

She placed an IV in my left antecubital (typical) and asked me some questions. 

"Have you eaten or drank anything after midnight?"

"Nope." ::poker face::

Some time later they came and wheeled me back into the operating room. I was instructed to take off my undertrousers and put them under my pillow. I laughed thinking that it's like some sort of twisted tooth fairy thing. Maybe while I'm asleep, they'll exchange my underwear and leave me a baby under my pillow! I walked from my bed to the table/chair-looking apparatus. There were three women around me preparing machines and tools. At some point, someone put a telephone in my hand...

...???...I answered it.

"Uh, hello?"

"Guten Morgen!"

Then I noticed the big glass window in front of me. I assumed it was the laboratory because I saw a bunch of computers, monitors, and microscopes. I could see another woman with a phone to her ear inside the lab smiling back at me.

"Guten morgen..." I replied.

And then there was silence. With the phone still to my ear I looked to the other women like "WTF, a little guidance would be nice!" Then they decided to tell me what the heck is going on. I'm supposed to say my name into the phone. Oh, um, ok?...

"Mein Name ist Rachel Frick?"

"Ok, Dankeschön!"

And then someone took the phone from my hand. Weird...

I "assume the position" and the women start to strap in my limbs. The anesthesiologist is there and tells me that I will feel weird for a moment and then "the dreams will come." I see her push the syringe of milky, white liquid into my vein..."Propofol" I state to myself. I look down at my legs in the stirrups and smile at my neon leopard socks right next to the doctor's head. As I stare at the ceiling and wait the anesthesiologist asks, "Are you an English woman?"

"No, I'm American." I reply.

...and that's the last thing I remember.

My nose got a little tingly and then I slept. It was peaceful and easy. I hope that's how it was for our pup, Tyson when we had to put him to sleep.

The next thing I hear is Mama Frick digging through her purse. It feels like a Sunday morning. I'm so tired and I just want to sleep a little bit longer but someone is already awake and making noise. All I want is for her to be quiet so I can sleep some more but I'm waking up slowly. The nurse in me counts my own respirations...they're about 5/min. (Mama Frick later told me she thought I wasn't breathing at all until she saw my eyelids flicker.) At some point, I reluctantly open my eyes and notice, for the first time, that there is a stork above my bed.

Yea, I look drunk and the XL scrub top makes me look like a sphere but that's as good as it gets. Again, I'm just there trying to get pregnant. I feel like we just got there but hours have passed and I can tell Mama Frick is getting antsy from sitting on that uncomfortable chair. I remember I'm not wearing any underwear and find them right where I left them. I slip them on under the blanket and start to take out my IV (see picture). Suddenly, the doctor comes around the corner and sits on my bed. I pretend like I wasn't just removing my own IV. She's talking and I'm trying really hard to listen but I'm only about 70% awake at this point. I try to wake myself up but it's useless.

She informs us that they took out 3 eggs. That's not very many but "hey, it's better than 2!" I tell myself. Things are still a bit hazy but she seems optimistic. She asks me one more time about "assisted hatching." With assisted hatching, they laser off a small part of the embryo membrane in hopes to increase the chance of it implanting on the uterine wall. I told her it's up to her. Eddie and I already signed paperwork for it and I told her money isn't an issue. I told her that we will go with her suggestion and not do it unless she sees the need.

She said that they will fertilize the eggs that afternoon and I am to make another appointment for Friday for implantation. She told me that they will call me if, for some reason, the embryos do not develop to cancel my appointment. She told me to make sure the phone number they have on file is correct. There were more instructions but I assumed Mama Frick was in a better state of mind to absorb the information.

In order to leave, Mama Frick had to accompany me on one walk so she escorted me to the bathroom. I was a bit wobbly but I made it into the stall. No one mentioned anything about bleeding (?) but I assumed that's normal. I went back to my bed and the anesthesiologist came to check on me. I asked her how I got from the table back to my bed and what happened to my hair net. She said two of them helped me walk.

I've been drunk before...pretty schwasted at times...but I've never blacked out. I've always been some-what conscious of my actions. It's weird to think that there is an hour of time that I don't remember. People were talking to me (in a foreign language, at that!) during that time and I was doing things that I have no recollection of. Again, it was my first time under general anesthesia and, for some, this happens often, but to me it's still creepy.

After what feels like eons of waiting, we figure out that we're free to go and that the nurse will take (finish taking) out my IV at the front. I make another appointment for Friday and double-checked the phone number they have saved. I resisted the urge to give them a fake number.

I've never not wanted a phone call so bad. I remember in middle school hoping for a phone call after cheerleading try outs. I would wait by the phone for hours...but this is the opposite. I walk around all day with my phone in my pocket. I double, triple check to make sure the volume is as loud as possible. It comes in the bathroom with me. When I shower, I hurry out and check if there are any missed calls. I don't want a phone call. Please God, don't let them call me. I routinely check the clock. I try to calculate what time the people in the lab probably get to work. When the clock strikes 6 PM I exhale because I assume they have gone home for the day. That's one more day that our embryos survived. Each night, Eddie and I give each other a triumphant smooch because our "babies" made it another day.

I don't know what I would do if I got the phone call canceling my appointment. I'd probably puke. No, seriously, I'm almost certain that I would vomit into the phone, on the ground, and all over my feet. Maybe I wouldn't even answer it at all. If I ignore it, maybe they will still grow? Ok, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I just looked at the clock. 12:15 PM Germany time. That means in exactly 24 hours and 5 minutes until the embryos will be placed back inside of me. Tomorrow afternoon at 12:20 PM they will place, depending on how many developed nicely, 2 of the 3 embryos back inside. The one left over will be frozen. Then the worrying will stop...

Hah! Yea right, then I'll be worried whether or not they'll implant. Ugh, so much stress. As sick as I am with worry, at least my worrying is evolving and changing. We're nowhere out of the woods yet but it's nice to no longer worry when we will be able to start this process. It's been a lot of waiting. I feel like they do one small thing and then we wait. One more appointment and then more waiting.

Mama Frick and I went to KFC (yes, I said KFC) after the appointment and I talked to her about how I'm tired of waiting. She said when we get pregnant we still have to wait 9 months to meet them. And then I joked and said,

"Yea, then we'll probably be waiting 18 years to get rid of them."

And then she said "Maybe, but then you'll wait and hope that they come back around and visit." And I realized she was talking about herself.

"...yes, but when they do, hopefully it will be with lots of grandbabies!" I added.

So, not that any of you ever call me, I am ordering complete radio silence on my phone until about 1 PM tomorrow. Don't call me...if you do, I'll probably have a heart attack and not make it to my appointment at all tomorrow. Keep up the prayers! All your extra praying squeezed out an extra egg! :)

Germany vs. America

201.   They have Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in Germany but, much like all American products, it is ridiculously overpriced. Oh, and might I add, that at times, I pay it because, well…a girl has cravings!

202.   German cars (Mercedes, BMWs, etc) are cheaper in America. Someone please explain the rationality behind that.

203.   Eastern Germans : Germany :: West Virginians : America, you followin’ me?

204.   Once, on a long boring drive, I brought up a random detail about the Holocaust I remembered learning in school. After explaining the tragic fact, Eddie responded with “What’s the Holocaust?”

…

I was momentarily stunned and we figured out that they call it something different. I’m interested in knowing what the German history books say about it.

205.   On the same note, I had to travel to Germany and proof read Eddie’s younger sister’s English paper to learn that during the years of segregation, white bus drives would make the blacks pay to ride the bus but then get off again and enter through the doors further back. But while they were walking to the back door, the bus drivers would drive away after they paid!

206.   It goes without saying that, dating someone from another culture can be difficult at times. Sometimes I just want to make a simple statement about something but end up explaining who/what something is and the original statement loses it’s meaning.

i.e. Eddie doesn’t know who Jimmy Buffet is…

“You know… ::breaks into song:: Cheese burger in paaaradise. PARADIIIISE!”

“…no.”

“Ok, nevermind, forget it.”

It’s not a huge deal but sometimes we get stuck on small details like that, and it reminds us we come from different upbringings.

207.   The cost of living is high in Switzerland. Eddie lives in Germany but works in Switzerland. Our plan is for me to do the same. Ideally, one lives in France and works in Switzerland.

208.   Our grocery carts typically go front to back. Their carts can go from to back and left to right. Something small I noticed while grocery shopping.

209.   Speaking of grocery shopping and carts…you have to pay for yours in Germany by putting in a 1 Euro coin and then unchaining them from each other (like at Aldi stores in America). During one of my earlier visits to Germany, Eddie's sister, Elisabeth and I went grocery shopping. After loading the groceries we bought in the car, Elisabeth, asked me to take the cart back and she would pick me up at the front of the store. I said ok, happy to help out further! However, while I was walking the cart back, an old woman came up to me and (in German) asked me if I could just give her my cart and in exchange for the 1 Euro coin in her hand, so I did! I got in the car, happy that I understood what the old woman wanted and thinking I did a good thing. I handed Elisabeth the coin and…her face dropped, and in turn, so did mine.

“What? What’s wrong? What did I do?!?”

Apparently, it wasn’t a coin in our cart, but rather a little token Mama Frick had given Elisabeth years ago that she uses every time she shops. She told me it was ok and we didn’t have to get it back but what am I supposed to do? Jip an old woman out of 1 Euro and lose a gift from Mama Frick to Elisabeth? Bravely, I told her I was going in to get it back!

Once I bought another cart, I went in the store and I realized that the place was packed with little old Omas (grandmas). I finally found the right one and tried sneaking by to see if that was the cart with the coin. Finally I just explained to her, in my horrible, broken German, what happened. I was so embarrassed, I think my cheeks where so red. She put her groceries in mine and we switched carts. FYI I said “Kart” when I should have said “Wagon.” Karte = card/ credit card. Great. Needless to say, I don’t make eye contact when returning my grocery carts now…ugh!

They just need those areas that take up a whole parking spot where we just push the carts into when we’re done and pay a young lad to come out in the rain to collect them!

210.   America has a much freer attitude more along the lines of “Live and Let Live.” Germans are much too into each others business, "nosy," if you will. For example: I often catch Germans looking in my shopping cart! ?!?!? Why do you care what I’m buying? Back off!